


It's Safe To Dream Sweet In My Arms Little Brother

by IHaveNothingToDo



Category: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - Ransom Riggs
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Listen the hollows may be gone but that doesnt mean Jacob's stopped being a protector, Nightmares, but mostly it's cuddles and talking and love, lowkey this is a Horace character study bc im still trying to figure out how to write him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 12:43:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20582702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IHaveNothingToDo/pseuds/IHaveNothingToDo
Summary: “Wait!” He calls, hands reaching for Horace, turning him from the door and back into Jacob’s chest, “I wasn’t kicking you out,” Jacob whispers into Horace’s hair, “I just need to make the bed really quick.”“What?” Horace is the one to pull back this time, “make the bed?” He asks, confusion stopping the tears for a moment.“Yeah,” Jacob says, hesitantly drawing away to scoop up an armful of blankets from where they’d landed in a heap from when he’d launched out of bed.“Why?”“Because-“ Jacob says, dumping his load onto the bed and beginning to straighten the mess into some kind of order, “if you don’t want to talk about it, then cuddling is the only other thing I know how to do.”





	It's Safe To Dream Sweet In My Arms Little Brother

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Midnight Cuddling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20463248) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 

Jacob wakes to hands scrambling at his shoulders, pushing and pulling, fingers digging in hard enough to leave nail marks.

Jacob doesn’t even wake all the way up, before his body acts on reflex, one hand flying up from under the sheets to connect with his assailant, palm open.

There’s a harsh crack of skin on skin, then a sob, and the hands on Jacobs shoulders disappear. 

Adrenaline flushing away the last traces of sleep, Jacob kicks his legs, and launches himself out of bed, falling into a defensive stance as his eyes adjust to the dark.

There is no Hollow, no White trying to abduct him from his bed. There is just a crying child standing in the middle of his room, face hidden by their hands. 

Jacob’s fighting stance melts off him as the beginning prickles of guilt start.

“Hey,” he whispers, walking forward as slow as possible, hands open and relaxed in front of him, a show of peace. “Hey now, what’s wrong.” 

The person hiccups another sob, then shouts, “YOU  _ HIT  _ ME!” Their head whips up, angry and distraught and Jacob is greeted with Horace’s tearstained face, the shadow of a handprint that will mostly likely be bright red under proper lighting, painting his cheek. 

The guilt Jacob feels triples. “You startled me,” Jacob soothes, “I didn't know it was you Horace, I’m sorry.”

Horace continues to sob, returning his face to hide in his hands. 

“I’m sorry,” Jacob repeats, coming close enough to touch Horace’s shoulder with the tips of his fingers, “I'm so sorry.” 

With a wail, Horace turns and slams dead into Jacob. 

Jacob, not expecting this, staggers back under the force and weight of Horace’s body but manages to keep them both on their feet. 

“Hey,” Jacob soothes, feeling a little bewildered at all this, even as he leans his cheek on top of Horace’s head, “It’s alright, it’s alright, everythings okay.” 

Horace’s sobs double. 

Wincing, Jacob wraps his arms more securely around Horace, and sways them side to side, clamping down on more assurances that everything is okay, not wanting to make whatever this is worse. 

Still weeping into his chest, Horace starts to stutter out apologies. “I’m- I’m, I didn't  _ mean _ ” 

“I know you didn't,” Jacob interrupts, stopping his swaying to pull back and stare Horace down, “You have nothing to apologize for, understand?” 

Horace stares back, trying to gleen a lie in Jacob’s face but Jacob remains unwavering. 

“You-” Horace hiccups, “You sound like Miss Peregrine.” Even through the tears, and snot, and fear on his face, Horace’s is smiling when he says it. 

Jacob smiles back, “I kinda do, don't I?” 

Horace nods, swaying on his feet, “I’m sorry I woke you up,” he whispers, voice thick again with the threat of more tears.

  
“Don’t be,” Jacob says breezily, trying to avoid said tears. Stumbling backwards until he hits the edge of his bed, Jacob smiles up at Horace, “Come sit down.” 

Horace nods once, wipes his eyes with one hand, and carefully lowers himself onto Jacob’s bed. 

“Talk to me,” Jacob says into the silence, determined not to let them lapse into awkwardness. He knows Horace doesn’t usually go to anyone with help for his dreams, Jacobs knows what a sacred thing this moment is. “What’s up?” He finishes lamely. Scared thing or not Jacob is no wordsmith. 

Horace levels him with as flat a look as he can manage through the snot and tears on his face. 

Jacob laughs, flopping backwards into bed, “Fair point.” He stares up into the ceiling, deliberately not staring at Horace’s still trembling shoulders. “Wanna talk about it?”

“ _ No,”  _ Horace says with a cracked voice. 

Levering himself up onto on elbow Jacob stares at Horace’s shaking form, and marvels at how not a sound escapes him. How many nights had Horace cried like this, silent and alone in his bedroom? How many nights had Jacob been sleeping just a few doors down?

Infuriated with himself, Jacob shoves up to his feet, startling a strangled sob out of Horace. “Come on,” He says, “go sit by my desk for a minute.”

Horace stares at him, eyes pinched into a squint to hold back more tears, “I'm sorry-“ he chokes out, standing on shaky legs, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“ He chants stumbling toward the door, not the desk. 

Jacob makes a strangled noise, allows himself one second to kick his own ass, before chasing after Horace. “Wait!” He calls, hands reaching for Horace, turning him from the door and back into Jacob’s chest, “I wasn’t kicking you out,” Jacob whispers into Horace’s hair, “I just need to make the bed really quick.”

“What?” Horace is the one to pull back this time, “make the bed?” He asks, confusion stopping the tears for a moment. 

“Yeah,” Jacob says, hesitantly drawing away to scoop up an armful of blankets from where they’d landed in a heap from when he’d launched out of bed.

“Why?” 

“Because-“ Jacob says, dumping his load onto the bed and beginning to straighten the mess into some kind of order, “if you don’t want to talk about it, then cuddling is the only other thing I know how to do.” Deeming the blankets orderly enough, Jacob dives underneath them, fitting his back to the wall and leaving the rest of the blankets flipped down for Horace to crawl into. 

Horace swallows, arms around himself and asks, “You’re not upset with me?”

Jacob frowns, “Upset with you?”

Horace straightens, hands falling to his sides, “A proper gentleman does not go barging into others quarters just-“ his voice cracks, but he soldiers on, “just because he had a nightmare.” 

Softening, Jacob rocks up onto one elbow to smile gently at Horace, “a proper gentleman asks for help when needed, even and including-“ he holds out a hand for Horace, “when he has nightmares.” 

Face cracking into more tears Horace all but runs to the bed, scrabbling fruitlessly at the blankets till Jacob takes the job from him, and smashes his face into the crook of Jacob’s neck, crying again.

Looping one arm around Horace’s shoulders, and using the other to twitch the blankets back, Jacob settles them in, relaxing into Horace’s sob wracked form. 

“It’s alright,” Jacob soothes, twining his other arm around Horace’s back, “You’re here with me. It’s alright. I’ve got you.” 

Jacob continues these small assurances, pressing small kisses to the top of Horace’s head, holding him as close to as possible, till Horace’s sobs dwindle into hiccups, and then into silence. 

“There we go,” Jacob says, sleep starting to pull at him, “there we go, you’re okay. I’ve got you.” 

Horace mumbles something, and Jacob rock onto his back just a little to give Horace room to speak. “What was that?” He asks.

“I’m sorry,” Horace whispers, voice steadier then it has been all night, but still shaky “I can go if-“

Jacob was rocks back into Horace, tosses one leg over him, and does his best to pin Horace in place, “Nope!” He says cheerily, “you are my official cuddle buddy for the night, no escape or take backs.” 

“But-“

“Mrrrn,” Jacob does his best impression of Miss Peregrine’s ‘proper people do not try to weasel out of their chores’ noise, and fails epically at it. Horace laughs all the same though, a happy noise despite the note of post crying exhaustion in it.

“Alright, alright, but you’ll suffocate me like this!” Horace pokes his fingers into Jacob’s sides till he laughs and rolls away, yawning. 

“To bed with us,” Jacob says, stretching the arm Horace isn’t laying on before curling back around him, this time much looser then before. 

Horace tosses an arm over Jacob’s side, as he messes with the blankets some more. 

“Thank you,” Horace whispers into the collar of Jacob’s sleep shirt.

“Anytime,” Jacob throws back casually, shrugging his shoulder under the blanket, then flipping one edge back so Horace doesn’t suffocate. 

Horace makes a soft unconvinced sound, but doesn’t argue the point, too sleepy and content to verbalize doubts. 

Jacob, though tired, is not sleepy enough to let that slide. “I mean it,” he insists, trying to make Horace unbury himself so he can look him in the eyes, “you ever need anything like this again-“ He jostles Horace with the shoulder he’s laying on till Horace looks up through bleary doubtful eyes, “-you come to me. Got it?” 

Humming, and settling back down again, Horace lets his eyes close

“Horace. I mean it.” Jacob doesn’t jostle him again, but remains insistent, even as Horace murmurs an assent. “Promise me,” Jacob says into the darkness of the room, “promise me you won’t keep enduring this alone.” Horace lifts his head, blinking in confusion. “We’re family, and I can hardly stand the thought of you like you were when you first came in, all alone in your room.”

It’s takes Horace’s sleepy brain a minute to piece together that ‘like you were when you came in’ meant ‘crying and shaking and terrified’

“I’m usually quieter,” he mumbles.

Jacob makes an aborted sound that started and a scream but ended with the threat of tears before it got all the way out of his mouth. 

“I don’t  _ care _ -“ Jacob hisses through the threat, hands sliding in tighter around Horace, iron bars that trap him against Jacob.

Jacob clears his throat and starts again, “It doesn’t matter if your quiet or not,” he whispers, “It matters if your hurting. Just-“ loosening his grip, Jacob sighs into Horace’s hair, “Just promise me that you’ll come back if you’re hurting again.” 

Nodding against his shoulder, Horace tightens his hold on Jacob’s ribs, tears once again biting at his eyes, “I promise.” He chokes out, and feels Jacob relax against him, hands skating along his back before stopping to wrap around his shoulders, to cradle his head. 

“Sweet dreams Horace,” Jacob whispers. 

And for the first night in a long line of nightmares, Horace does in fact, dream of sweet things. 


End file.
